Inexpressible
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: Desmond is mysterious. Claire can't help but be curious. Some things don't need words to be explained, and other things defy explanation. A Daire oneshot. Please read and review!


Claire hated that this bothered her.

He seemed much more relaxed and outgoing now, wandering among various groups of people, spreading his cheerful greetings and observations on all and sundry.

All but her.

Ever since the incident with the lightning, he hadn't spoken to her. Not once. He had introduced himself and chatted happily with everyone else, but with her it had been drunken chatter, then mysterious offers of help and premonition and now… nothing.

She hated that she noticed that.

He talked to Charlie, but only in the few minutes of the day when Charlie wasn't by her side. He kept a wide perimeter around her tent when he walked past, and he never looked at her when he passed by.

But sometimes, when he was talking to other people, she would "casually" glance in his direction and catch him looking at her with eyes full of… what? Meaning, she thought. But what was the meaning?

She hated that she tried to figure it out.

Finally, about a week after the roof incident, she couldn't take it anymore. It was during one of the blessed hours of the day when someone volunteered to watch Aaron for her—this time it was Rose. She set Aaron carefully in the older woman's arms and watched a smile slowly spread across her face. Claire wondered to herself if Rose had ever had any children. She seemed so motherly by nature.

After she thanked Rose, she set off on a "relaxing" walk. A stroll, you might say. With no destination at all, she insisted to herself.

But she found him within a few minutes.

He had just been talking to Locke, but he was walking away now. She had noticed that about him—he never stayed in one place long. He talked to everyone, but he didn't seem to enter into many deep conversations. He kept an air of mystery about him.

Maybe that's why she was here. She never could resist mysteries. Astrology, fortune tellers—they were all just promises to let you in on the big secret. It didn't matter what the big secret really was. It didn't matter that the promises were usually bunk. She couldn't resist taking a peek.

"Desmond!" she called as she caught up to him, hoping her voice didn't sound too loud or shaky.

He turned, smiling. "Claire. Hello." He stopped walking, and she stopped a foot or two in front of him.

"Hi," she responded, sticking her hands in her back pockets nervously.

"How are you?"

"Good." Except for the fact that she was losing it.

"How's Aaron?"

"Um, he's fine." She found herself fidgeting, tapping her foot and playing with a strand of her hair. A current of energy seemed to be flowing through her, adrenaline or something more complex. She decided to blurt out what she'd been wondering.

"How… how did you know about the lightning last week?" Her question sounded blunt and bald once it hit the air.

Desmond chuckled. "I'll let you know when I understand it myself, sistah. It's hard to explain."

"Try." When had she become so bold and annoying?

He just shook his head and smiled. A mysterious smile. Nearly a smirk. She hated it!

"Why…" she began, then stopped. None of her questions were polite. Half of them barely made sense. Why don't you talk to me? Why do you ignore me sometimes, and then stare at me until I can't think straight? What was it like, being alone for so long? Why didn't you think I would believe you about the storm? Why am I here talking to you? There was nothing good she could say. But she felt like she had to say _something_.

"I went and saw a psychic once. He looked at my hand and knew all about me, like that I was pregnant and… I think he knew that the plane was going to crash. You could have told me if you… if you have powers."

He didn't say anything, but instead reached out and took her hand. He looked at it, traced its lines and curves, ran his callused fingertips over hers. Claire felt conflicting urges, part of her aching to jerk her hand back and another part wishing to hold perfectly still, as though she might scare him away.

"What… what are you doing?" she finally asked.

"Hmm?" he looked up as though startled. "Oh, nothing." She gawked. He grinned. "I can't read palms, I just wanted to hold your hand for a minute." He laughed, and Claire gave a little squeak of annoyance and yanked her hand out of his.

"You sneak!" She hit his shoulder teasingly, then realized that she was acting very familiar with him for someone she'd barely spoken too.

"Why don't you ever talk to me?" she blurted out. No formality seemed to be left to ruin.

"I could ask you the same thing." He paused, then continued. "And we'd have the same answer."

"What?"

"Your man."

"My… oh."

"Charlie wouldn't like it, yeah?"

"Oh, well, I don't know. I mean, maybe not, but he's not like my father or anything…"

"I don't believe anyone would mistake Charlie for your _father_." There was the knowing smile again. Claire thought of things to say—she could talk to whomever she liked, Charlie probably wouldn't mind, it wouldn't make a difference—but somehow she knew that it would.

"Hey, maybe we should make a sign language," Desmond said suddenly. "Like if I wave, it means 'hi'."

"Wow, very complex," Claire quipped.

"If I give a thumbs-up like this, it means 'You look lovely today.'"

Claire felt her face getting hot and hoped that it was just sunburn. "Maybe we should make more subtle signals," she joked. "Like if I scratch my nose, it means 'Nice to see you', and if I push my hair back like this, it means 'Is lightning going to strike me anytime soon?'" She relished his chuckle. There was a pause in the conversation that was less uncomfortable than the previous ones. Desmond quickly ended it.

"Shouldn't you be getting… back?" She wondered if he was keeping himself from saying "back to Charlie."

"Yeah, I guess so. Rose has Aaron. So, um… I'll talk to you later?"

"Some way or another." He bowed and twirled his hand in an elaborate flourish. "_That_ means goodbye." His eyes were full of mischief, but still held that hint of mystery that drove her crazy, that had driven her here.

"Well, goodbye, then." She mimicked his gesture, and his smile grew to a full-on grin again. He strode away, confident and agile, and she rushed away in a cloud of confusion.

During the next few days, he still didn't speak to her, but he would make gestures as he passed by. Sometimes he used the ones they had agreed upon, and sometimes he just did crazily complex movements like a baseball umpire. She would laugh, and Charlie would ask what was going on. "It's just this joke we had… like, we were making a sign language," she would try to explain, somehow feeling guilty as she spoke. Charlie just said "Oh," but he looked puzzled and a little annoyed. She could feel him wondering why they _needed _a sign language, and she was glad that he didn't ask.

Once he passed by when she was sitting alone, and her heart sped up in anticipation, thinking that he would stop to talk. He did stop, but stood several feet away, and he didn't speak. First he gave her the thumbs-up sign, and she lowered her chin shyly in a wordless approximation of thanks. Then he put his hands over his heart and stared at her with eyes so intense that she had to look away. He slowly lowered his hands and turned to leave.

"Wait!" she cried, forgetting to be careful. "What did that mean?"

He walked back over to her and leaned down to look into her eyes. "That's the question the poets have been trying to solve for ages. It's inexpressible, yeah?"

"Yeah," she breathed, as though his customary saying had been a real question. He slowly straightened and walked away, but just as he began to pass out of her view, he glanced over his shoulder once more, his eyes full of their indefinable meaning then, full of the answer to the question she would not let herself ask, and she covered her eyes with her hand so that they wouldn't reflect or receive his look. She covered her eyes so that she could concentrate on this new feeling—her heart bursting with fear, and with hope.


End file.
